


Night at the Keep

by ancalime8301



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-26
Updated: 2003-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 03:19:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/184427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo is at Helm's Deep and experiences his first real battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night at the Keep

**Author's Note:**

> (Don't know why or how Frodo ended up at Helm's Deep, but he's there.)

"Go, Frodo."

"No." The obstinate hobbit stood his ground unflinchingly. "I am neither woman nor child, Aragorn. I refuse to flee like a coward when boys barely into their teens are being suited for battle."

"But Frodo-" the man looked for support from Sam and didn't find it. The gardener had sided with his master in this dispute, wearing an expression of fierce determination. "Think of what you carry." Aragorn changed his tactic to appeal to Frodo's weighty responsibility. "If you were to be killed or even captured, all would be lost."

"I fight *because* of what I bear," he insisted. "They are drawn here because of me. I would not abandon the people of Rohan to fight alone what I brought down upon their heads." He paused and challenged, "And what of you, Aragorn? You are yet weak and injured, and *your* death would prematurely end the line of kings."

"My death would be most unfortunate, but it would not bring all the world into Shadow," he countered, then sighed. "You will not stay behind no matter what I say, will you?" A shake of the dark head confirmed his assertion. "All right, then. You both may join the boys above the gate. But you must promise to retreat to the fortress when the orcs begin scaling the walls," he commanded, meeting both pairs of eyes sternly.

The hobbits exchanged a look, seeming to discuss the matter without a word. "We will retreat in that event," Frodo acquiesced reluctantly.

~~~~

As the orcs advanced with the spreading cloak of night, Aragorn resisted the temptation to scan the multitude of faces along the wall to find the two curly heads somewhere near the gate. He was concerned Frodo, and Sam with him, would not heed his order to retreat, but nothing could be done now to ensure their safety. He would have to trust Sam to keep Frodo from harm. And he could do all he could to ensure victory over the forces of Saruman. Resolved, he turned to give instructions to the Elves awaiting his direction.

Frodo and Sam also watched, apprehensive, as the hordes of orcs swarmed ever closer, a burly, bearded man holding open the shutter so they could look upon their foes. Seeing the halflings pale, the man allowed the wood to swing closed as he reassured them, "Don' fret. None have ever defeated us here."

The hobbits nodded numbly, and Frodo couldn''t help but wish he''d not insisted on fighting. So many... and all would be after him if they knew who he was, what he carried... He swallowed with difficulty and slid Sting out of its scabbard just enough to see it glowing brightly, almost blindingly. He put it away quickly, masking its light, and exchanged a fearful glance with Sam.

It would be hours, at least, before the glow would diminish and fade completely, and Frodo wondered how many would fall before then. Who could possibly survive an onslaught so great? What of the boys, so many so young, frightened, but determined to prove themselves to those older... What of the old men, many of them deserving rest and peace for their few remaining days, instead picking up the sword yet again to protect their wives, their daughters, their daughters' daughters from the merciless clutches of the depraved orcs... What of the Elves, immortal, yet willing to suffer death in the name of an ancient alliance... What of the kind man beside them, with a wife and young ones secreted in the caves... What of the boy on the other side, not even to his twelfth summer...

Frodo wondered dismally if any realized for what they were sacrificing themselves, or rather, for *whom.* He shivered as the rain penetrated his clothing and he realized with a start that the battle had begun. Shouts and cries echoed through the air around him; the sound of arrows being released, ladders impacting stone, grunts of effort, and screams of the dying paraded one after another through his ears and into his disbelieving brain. They were really fighting. Men and elves and orcs were rushing headlong into their own destruction, and all on account of him. The noises of battle continued, and he felt sick.

Frodo was prodded into action by sudden movement around him. Orcs were lumbering up the causeway. Grasping rocks as he saw others do, he unleashed them at the enemy, most of the thrown projectiles bouncing harmlessly off the upturned shields. He had stooped for more weapons when the whole earth moved and a deafening boom swept him off his feet. He wasn't the only one who had fallen, he noted as he struggled to his feet once more to return to his post. And though all felt the very walls shake, none knew what fell deeds spawned the tremor.

Still the orcs marched on, creeping ever closer to the fragile wood that barred their entry. Finally with a roar they threw away their shields to reveal a jagged ram, which they hurled with delight at the walls' weakness, knocking many of their kind from the narrow way in their enthusiasm.

The ground again shook as the ram impacted wood; the man used the orcs' distraction to hurl a spear as the others continued pelting rocks on the enemies' heads. Out of the corner of his eye, Frodo saw the kind man stagger backwards, an orc arrow burrowed under the edge of his chainmail hood, then topple off the ledge into the seething mass of soldiers below, bracing the fragile barrier with human flesh. When the hobbit realized he just watched the kind man die, he stood, stricken. He did not move even as the gate shuddered with repeated blows and others brushed past him, aiding the defense against the invading orcs. Finally Sam roused him from his stupor. "C'mon, sir," he said, tugging insistently at Frodo''s sleeve. "The gate's been breached. We have t' retreat like Strider said."

Anger at the very idea of war and the destruction it brought coursed through him, pushing aside his helpless despair. "No, Sam. I'm not retreating until the others do," Frodo replied with resolve, pulling his arm from Sam''s grasp and stooping for more rocks. Sam knew better than to argue and joined him.

All too soon came the call for retreat and the hobbits joined the stream of people crossing the narrow bridge into the fortress. Sam was uncomfortably reminded of the Bridge in Moria, but quickly put aside his inhibitions when he saw the dark hordes piling through the shattered gate. Frodo stumbled along behind him, already weary. But the night was not yet over.

Matters were no better inside the outer wall of the keep, the retreating warriors followed closely by those they fled. The battle raged as orc and human fought to gain entrance to the stronghold. Frodo and Sam managed to dart up the stairs unnoticed, several of the young boys followed their lead as they passed men and elves locked in the deadly dance of combat. Once inside, the pair halted, uncertain of what to do or where to go. The boys quickly scattered, and Sam assumed they''d gone off to find their mothers. When he glanced over at Frodo, to ask what they should do now, he was startled to see his master was no longer standing next to him. A quick scan of the room found Frodo huddled in one of the many niches in the stone walls, a vacant look on his pale face.

Sam dropped to the floor next to him. "Mr. Frodo?" he asked hesitantly.

"So much death..." Frodo whispered, closing his eyes as he shuddered. "I never imagined it this way. Bilbo's stories of the battle didn't... it wasn't like this-" he was cut short by running footsteps and urgent shouts as the last of the living reached the safety of the fortress and the doors were slammed shut.

Sam heard the voices of Strider and the Rohan king over the tumult as others barricaded the door. He noted that many of the soldiers had disappeared from view and now sounds of defiance came from somewhere over his head. Harassing the orcs from above, then? It wasn't doing any good; the walls and doors shook under the ram''s assault upon this new barrier. Amidst it all, the hobbits went unnoticed.

As the door began to crack loudly, Sam gave thought to where they should go. He wanted to flee to those caves, but he did not know the way from here, and Frodo did not look as though he was going anywhere. His eyes were closed and his brow furrowed; something was occupying his mind, and Sam doubted he could prod Frodo into motion soon enough to escape before the orcs broke through. He absent-mindedly worried the edge of his cloak, and as he realized what he was doing, he had an idea. A shield from unfriendly eyes....

Quickly unfastening the cloak, he swung the concealing fabric over both he and Frodo just as the door splintered into nothingness. The riders charged out with a yell, but once they had departed, many orcs sprang to replace the ones who had fallen. Sam's heart sank as he heard countless growling voices invade the room. The sound of clashing blades; the thud of fallen bodies. But whose? The soldiers? Or the orcs? He didn''t dare peek.

Sam closed his eyes in dread as he heard footsteps approach their hiding place, accompanied by uncouth speech he could not understand. He tried not to breathe as the orcs stopped right in front of them and seemed to bicker, with one stalking away while the other remained, as if it could tell something was concealed there.

Finally he heard the orc move away, and he opened his eyes in relief, though he didn't yet move the cloak. The orcs could still be nearby. Through it all, Frodo had not made a single sound, and the gardener looked over, concerned about his master's well-being. And his eyes were met with... nothing. Frodo wasn't there, or at least, not visible. The Ring! It all made sense now; his master's preoccupation was the call of that evil trinket. But if he had It on...

Sam reached over, feeling for Frodo's hands, whispering urgently, "Mr. Frodo! Take It off! Take It off!" Finding a shoulder, he patted down the arm to a hand, feeling the cursed band around one finger. Frodo did not resist him as he slid the Ring from the finger to hang from its chain once more. Sam wrapped the now-visible icy hands in his own as he anxiously prodded, "Frodo?" But Frodo didn't answer, tears leaking from beneath closed eyelids and coursing down pallid cheeks.

~~~~

And so Aragorn found them when he and the Riders returned to the fortress, their foes having vanished into the forest that mysteriously appeared. He was relieved to see no injuries on either hobbit, but became more concerned than before when Sam related that Frodo had succumbed to the call of the Ring.

He squatted before the still silent hobbit, gently shaking him as he called his name, and finally resorted to slapping his face lightly. Frodo's eyes shot open and he glared at his attacker, teeth bared in a snarl before his realized who was calling for his attention and he visibly relaxed. "Wha-?" he began, confused.

"You weren't hearing us call you. What do you remember?"

"B-battle... so much death..." he blanched and swallowed heavily. "We came in here..."

"-and when orcs came in, you put on the Ring," Sam supplied.

"Y-yes, I did... and-and I saw..." he broke off, not wanting to continue.

"What did you see?" Aragorn prodded.

"The Eye... and orcs. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands of orcs, with some evil men, attacking a city... so many bodies... King Theoden... Eowyn... Merry... a-and Pip-" his whispering voice broke on the recitation of beloved names, and he again wept as he brought up his hands to cover his face.

Sam tried to soothe him, but the Ringbearer was still too shaken by what he'd been shown. "I cannot go on," he burst out. "I cannot keep bringing death upon others' heads."

"Frodo, listen to me," Aragorn commanded. "What you have seen is not necessarily what will happen. The Ring -like Its maker- is full of deceit. And even if all that does come true," he continued softly, "you *must* continue, or they will have suffered and died for naught. If you give in, Sauron wins, and even more will die."

The hobbit sniffled a bit as he considered Aragorn's words. At length he nodded slowly. "I'm just... so tired..."

Aragorn helped him stand and replied, "You both will be best served if you get some rest. Once you're less weary, you can decide how to continue from here." Sam nodded enthusiastically and followed as Aragorn led he and Frodo to a back room where pallets had been laid, many already in use, and he gratefully sank down on one. Frodo laid upon a neighboring mattress, curling up contentedly underneath a blanket Aragorn laid over his form. Both he and Sam were soon soundly sleeping, joining the others in rejuvenating slumber.

Aragorn watched as they fell asleep, and wondered if what Frodo had seen would come to pass. Whatever the case, he must be ready, to give the hobbits precious time to achieve their goal in the heart of Mordor.


End file.
